


Referendum

by Theobule (Saathi1013)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: 'power couple + loyal lieutenant(s)' is my newest bulletproof kink apparently, Cuckolding, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Power Imbalance, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Theobule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several loosely-connected ficlets and bridging scenes from what I've been calling the 'Santos Polyverse' (originally posted on tumblr), which I wrote after talking about it with LizzyBees.</p><blockquote>
  <p>Here’s the thing. Josh watches Matt, and Helen watches Josh. And while Josh has always, always looked at Matt with respect and vague astonishment, like he can’t believe Matt is for real, lately ‘respect’ seems to have shaded over a bit into ‘adoration’ and maybe a little something else.</p>
  <p>Helen’s not throwing any stones, but they should probably handle it before the primaries.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnightlover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightlover/gifts).



> Thanks also to Poesparakeet, Jabletown, & Knitmeapony for their additional encouragement.
> 
> No beta; grammar/spelling errors, if pointed out, will be corrected ASAP. Additional concrit: pm me.

 

Here’s the thing. Josh watches Matt, and Helen watches Josh. And while Josh has always, always looked at Matt with respect and vague astonishment, like he can’t believe Matt is for real, lately ‘respect’ seems to have shaded over a bit into ‘adoration’ and maybe a little something else.

Helen’s not throwing any stones, but they should probably handle it _before_ the primaries.

“I think Josh has a thing for you,” she tells Matt bluntly one night, when they’re both sated and tangled up cozily with each other. They so rarely get a chance to be alone; she’s learned not to waste time.

(Which is also why they’re in bed when she brings it up.)

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, and she swats him lightly. “No, I mean it,” she says.

He shifts, craning to see her face better. “Seriously? I thought he had his eye on _you._ ”

“Hardly,” she scoffs.

“No, I mean it, I think I might have caught him checking you out a couple times,” he says, insistent.

Helen lifts her eyebrows. “And you didn’t have a problem with that?”

“Ah, he doesn’t do it where he can get us in trouble,” Matt replies, shrugging. “It’s your call, but I say let him look. I know you’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh _do_ you?” she teases, scrunching her nose up at him as he laughs again.

“Besides, we know he likes women, he’s got that thing for, whatshername, the pollster.”

Helen lifts herself up on one elbow to give her husband a _look_. “First, her name’s Joey Lucas, and second, we are the _last_ people in the world to make assumptions based on public appearances.”

Not that she has _any_ complaints or insecurities about their marriage, tonight being no exception, but she does have the occasional wistful impulse. She’s never asked, but she suspects he’s had them, too.

He looks away, rolling his jaw. “...fair point,” he concedes. “So, what, you think he wants both of us?”

Helen knows he doesn’t mean to imply anything by the phrasing, but her mind goes there anyway, and she catches her breath. They’re still lazily entwined, though, flush from thighs to shoulders, so even though she tries to stifle it, he can _feel_ it.

“... _really?”_ Matt asks. She shifts, feeling sheepish, a thousand evasions colliding in her throat. Which is when she feels him against her hip, evidence that she’s not the only one whose thoughts proved... _unpredictable_.

She moves again, slotting her leg more firmly between his, running her fingers up over his waist, his chest, his shoulders. “You’re thinking about it, too,” she says. “What are you thinking?”

They’ve gotten good at this, with all the time apart on various campaign trails and long nights with only each others’ voices in the dark. They’re good at talking, coming up with outlandish scenarios just to make each other moan. This isn’t even the first time they’ve talked about having someone else in their bed. Hypothetically, of course.

It is, however, the first time they’ve named someone specific, someone they know, someone they both like as a _person_. That’s probably why Matt’s reply is quiet and cautious. “...watching you,” he admits.

“Yeah?” she says, pressing close and feeling him getting harder beneath her as she speaks. “How does it start, with just him and me and then you walk in, catching us? Or do we know you’re there?”

His breath hisses through his teeth, his arm tightening around her waist to pull her closer. “L-little bit of both,” he says, the stutter in his voice more lust than hesitation, now. “You know I’m there, but you pretend you don’t see me, pretend I don’t know.” His hand splays out, riding the curve of her hip, her lower back, her ass, trailing over her tattoo.

“Sure,” she says, parting her legs around the thick, strong line of his thigh. “Maybe we’ve snuck off from dinner at the house and he’s got me backed up against the vanity in our bedroom. You’re able to see his face in the mirror and mine over his shoulder.”

“You haven’t been at it long, either, you both have most of your clothes on. But he’s lost his tie and jacket, and your blouse is hanging open while he fingers you.” Matt’s hand curls down, suiting action to words, stroking along her folds from behind.

She drags her open mouth across his, more a tease than a kiss. “Do you touch yourself when you watch us?” she asks. “Do you press your palm against your dick through your pants, until you can’t take it anymore and have to undo your fly?”

Helen moves so that she can wrap her hand around him, and he gasps. “Yeah,” he says, “And I hear you doing the same with his. You’re both in a hurry, you know you don’t have a lot of time and you’ve been _wanting_ it--”

He slides two fingers into her, where she’s still slick and relaxed from earlier. The angle’s not right though, so she sits up, pushing down against his thigh at the same steady pace with which she’s stroking him. “He fucks me right there,” she says. “Against the vanity, only half undressed.”

“Ah, god,” Matt says, his big hands stroking her belly, her waist, cupping her breasts. “Helen, babe, I need--”

“Yeah,” she says, already moving. “Me too.” She sinks down onto him easily and rides him, steady and even, his hips rolling up to meet her. Bending down, she kisses him, wide and dirty. “Think he’d let you fuck him?” she murmurs against his mouth.

“Shit,” he says through his teeth, clearly hurtling towards the edge. She’s close, too, so when he slips his hand down between them to give her the side of a knuckle to grind against, she catches up _quick_.

“Think he’d let you fuck him while he’s fucking me?” she asks, and _there_ , that’s it. Matt bites back a long, guttural groan, giving her a handful of final, uneven thrusts that send her over, too. She rides it out, little tremors rippling through her, and ends up curled atop him, her face tucked under his chin. “Holy _shit,_ Matt,” she says, breathlessly, pulse thundering in her ears.

“...seconded,” he says, sounding amused.

 

* * *

 

There is possibly the _faintest_ moment of awkwardness when she looks up from her morning itinerary review to spot Josh across the room, beaming in glee about some polling results he’s just presented to her husband. Josh’s sleeves are rolled up, and she can see the flexing line of his forearm as he indicates different data points on the page. He’s so obviously eager to please Matt that she wants to go over, grab him by his tie, and--

“Mrs. Santos?” Rita asks, and Helen starts out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “I had a late night, um. Is there any more coffee?”

“I’ll go check,” Rita says, giving her a knowing grin.

Helen realizes that the aide thinks she’s been mooning over Matt, and. That’s at least a _little_ better. Still embarrassing, but manageable. She straightens in her seat, picks some lint from her slacks, composing herself.

Her gaze flicks back over towards where the two men had been standing, finding Josh gone and Matt looking her way thoughtfully. He tilts his head; she shoots him a wry smile and a shrug, and his mouth quirks up in response, reassuring and sympathetic.

Then Matt winks at her, and damn, _damn_ , there goes her equanimity.

The rest of the day goes better -- as does the whole week; everything’s so hectic that she doesn’t give it any more thought. She barely sees _Matt_ , let alone Josh.

So. It’s good. She’s fine. They got a smidge carried away, but it’s harmless.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve been considering the discussion we had last week,” Matt murmurs to her as she’s straightening his tie. He’s about to give a speech to the Union of Allied… somebody. Oh, hell, she’s lost track. And her husband isn’t helping her focus when he says, “the, ah. Vanity project, let’s call it?” Her hands go still.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Helen whispers, glad they’re alone in a side room. It’s the size of a closet and freezing cold, but she’ll take every ounce of privacy they’re afforded. “Have you gone off the deep end?” It’s a thing that happens sometimes. Politicians are still _people_ ; they get overwhelmed and fray at the edges like anyone else. Sometimes they do something reckless that ends their candidacy.

Matt seems calm, though. His hands come up and cover hers. “I’m not crazy,” he says. “Well, I _am_ running for President, so it might be a matter of degrees. But I’m also not kidding.”

“Oh my god,” she says, shaking off his hands and finishing the knot with quick, sharp motions. “Sweetie, it’s a fantasy. A good, _good_ fantasy,” she adds, leaning into him a little, “but it’s never, _ever_ gonna happen.”

“Haven’t you noticed?” he replies, “I seem to be taking the long odds, lately.” He pulls her close to give her a swift, firm kiss. “Just, you know, think about it?”

Before she can answer, there’s a sharp rap at the door before it swings open partway. _Speak of the devil,_ she thinks, feeling heat bloom across her cheeks. “You’re on in five,” Josh informs them, giving them both an appraising look. “You look great tonight, both of you. Very ‘first couple.’” His eyes crinkle at them, anticipatory mischief in his smile. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.” And then he’s gone, the door clicking closed behind him.

“Sweetie?” Helen says, after a beat.

“Yes, dear?”

“...I’ll _think_ about it.”

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, something’s going on with you two,” Josh blurts over last-minute speech revisions in the SUV. “Out with it, I’m getting a little unhinged over here. Are you pregnant?”

Helen chokes on a laugh. “Oh god, _no,_ ” she says.

“Then what is it?” Josh insists, and Matt and Helen exchange glances. They’re in a car with a driver up front, ten miles from a rally... This might be one of the _least_ optimal places to have this conversation, short of any press or live mics within earshot.

“Not here,” Matt says tersely, shifting to pull his coat tighter around him. “But we’ve got some time tomorrow night, how’s that?”

“On your date night?” Josh’s eyebrows shoot up. Well, it’s not really a _date_ , but Matt and Helen have been trying to block off three hours all to themselves once a month, and their success rate has not been stellar thus far.

“Oh, I think we can spare a few minutes for you, Josh,” Matt says, giving him a small, private smile. Josh looks at Helen and she returns his gaze without blinking, arch and enigmatic.

“You’re _killing_ me, here,” Josh gripes, slouching down in his seat and frowning out the window. His knee bumps against Helen’s and she quirks the corner of her mouth up at Matt. At least he’s not being over-cautious of her personal space; that’s new. And encouraging.

It occurs to her that she might be getting a little too much enjoyment out of watching Josh squirm.

 

* * *

 

Helen doesn’t know what to do with her hands. If she folds them on her lap, she looks prim. If she rests one by her side, it’s on the bedspread and that looks… _unsubtle_. Wait, should she even _be_ sitting on the bed? Getting to her feet, she realizes she doesn’t have anywhere to go, really. There’s the desk, but that’s piled with papers and this isn’t about politics and if she hears the word ‘entitlements’ even _once_ tonight, she’s going to dump the ice bucket on the offending party.

Speaking of which, Matt is over by the side table, pouring himself a careful measure of scotch. He seems fine when he sits in one of the armchairs, but when he raises the tumbler, she can hear the ice rattle in time to the restless tapping of his index finger.

“It’s not too late to back out,” he says, voice going hollow as it echoes in the glass.

“No,” she tells him, running her hands along the seams of her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles from sitting in front of a camera all afternoon. She feels antsy and a little wild, but apprehension isn’t the problem -- though there’s always the chance that Josh could say no, could walk away, could ruin them for this -- it’s the _waiting_. “No, I want this, I-- I want--”

Matt’s gaze is dark and heavy and hot as he watches her. She doesn’t need to tell him all the things she wants; she’s already told him, and a few of those ideas were his to begin with. He knows.

In this, as in everything else, they’re partners. She takes a deep breath, gives herself a good mental shake.

There’s a knock at the door. “C’mon in, Josh,” Matt calls out, and the door opens.

 

* * *

 

“Hi,” Helen says, giving Josh a shaky smile. She and Matt thought the proposal would be more credible coming from her, less intimidating. But Josh is eyeing her warily anyway. She kind of wishes she’d stayed sitting. “Do you want a drink?”

“No…” Josh drawls. “Are you firing me? Am I getting fired, here? Because if I did something--”

Matt chuckles. “You’re not getting fired, Josh.” He tilts his head at Helen. “Wanna give it another try, honey? We’ve got a limited window here before the poor guy’s head caves in.”

Helen makes a face at him. “Okay. I’ll just.” She takes a deep breath. “Josh, we were wondering if you’d be interested in. Um. Sleeping with us.” There, she finished the whole sentence and her voice didn’t even shake a little. Matt gives her a slight nod.

Josh squints at them for several long moments. “...are you fucking with me?” he asks finally.

“We’re really not,” she assures him.

“We’d kinda like to be,” Matt adds, all genial invitation.

“There’s no pressure, though,” Helen adds, lifting her hands, palms up towards Josh. “Nothing’s going to change if you say no.”

Josh still looks utterly confounded. “Aren’t you _Catholic?”_

Helen snickers. “I told you he’d ask,” she says to Matt.

“Yeah, well, we like you enough to invite you to our bed, Josh,” Matt says, taking a sip of his scotch. “But not enough to get divorced over you. And the way I figure, it’s not cheating if everyone agrees to amend the rules.”

“...so when you say ‘us,’” Josh says. “You mean _both_ of you.” Helen nods, and she sees Josh swallow once, hard, before his eyes flicker over her, furtive and almost involuntary. She can tell the moment he realizes he’s _allowed_ , because his face clears and then he looks at her, really looks, from head to toe.

And then he gives Matt the same appraisal. Matt lifts his chin, rests his elbow on the arm of the chair, shifts his knees so that his legs are braced square and solid. He doesn’t play to his size often, doesn’t usually expand his charisma like this in smaller rooms, but when he does, it raises all the hair on the back of Helen’s neck.

She wonders if Josh sees the vulnerability on display, too. How Matt’s offering himself, exposing one of his most private secrets, handing Josh a silver bullet, and doing it willingly. “So?” Matt says, and from the expression on Josh’s face, she can already tell what his answer’s going to be. They still need to hear Josh _say_ it, though. “You in?”

“Heck yeah I’m in,” Josh says, relief threading through his voice. “Are you kidding me, I’ve been in for _weeks_. I just thought you two were, like, punking me or something, oh my god.”

Helen suppresses her smile. Josh has barely gotten past wary disbelief; she doesn’t want to spook him by letting him think she’s making fun of him.

“All right,” Matt says, not bothering to hide his own grin. He sets his drink aside and checks his watch. “And look at that, we still have two and a half hours.”

Josh’s eyebrows creep northward, and he matches their smiles with one of his own. “I keep forgetting,” he says, clearly delighted, “you’re _devious_ when you want to be, Congressman.”

“I have my moments,” Matt grants him.

“So,” Josh says, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the dresser, “How does this work? You got a nine point plan for me?”

“We weren’t sure what you’d be comfortable with,” Helen admits.

Josh sends Matt a deliberate, hooded glance. “...you’d be surprised what I’m comfortable with,” he says. “You just tell me what you want.”

“Do you--” Matt starts, but Josh shakes his head by a fraction.

“Just tell me what you want,” Josh repeats, a little quieter but with different emphasis.

 _Oh,_ Helen thinks, a warmth pooling at the base of her spine. “Don’t move,” she says, crossing the room in three unhurried strides, giving Josh plenty of time to react -- or not -- as he chooses. He waits calmly, motionless and watchful. She walks right into his personal space, where their body heat bleeds into each other but she’s still able to focus on his expression. “You can ask us to stop anytime,” she says, “and we will.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna.”

She tips her chin up and kisses him, slow and easy, mouth parted but not fully open. Enjoying the unfamiliarity of it, her first intimate kiss with someone other than her husband in over fifteen years. She crowds closer, yielding as he strokes his tongue into her mouth. He still has his hands in his pockets, even as she slides her own around his waist, under his jacket.

“You can move now,” Matt says, and Josh makes a muffled, pleased noise. His hands come up to cradle her head, one tugging at the clip in her hair ‘till it comes loose.

Josh leans back, breaking the kiss. “You look so good with your hair down,” he says, toying with the ends that have fallen around her shoulders.

She grins up at him. “Why do you think I put it up so often?” She twists to look at Matt. “I don’t want to be a _distraction._ ”

“I’ve learned to multitask,” her husband says.

“You gonna prove that by coming over here?” Josh asks him.

“I’m good where I am,” Matt replies, settling back in his chair again.

Helen turns back to Josh. “He wants a show,” she tells him.

“Then let’s give him one,” Josh responds. Then he’s pulling her tight, kissing her like he’s gotta score points or she won’t let him try again. She matches his fervor, pushing his jacket off and hooking her fingers into the knot of his tie.

Weeks of quick changes between venues mean they have no problem with each others’ buttons despite working backwards, but they bump elbows some when it comes to peeling sleeves from arms busy trying to do the same in reverse. She laughs against his mouth, letting go long enough to drop her blouse on the floor behind her. He sucks a kiss -- careful, _careful_ , so he doesn’t leave a mark -- just under the crook of her jaw.

It’s been a while since she’s been with someone whose body she hasn’t mapped a thousand times, who reacts to her touch in unpredictable ways. It’s thrilling, sure, but she’s uncertain, too, not knowing where to start. She lets curiosity lead the way, smoothing her palms over Josh’s shoulder, his back, his arms, rucking up his undershirt in increments until he finally ducks out of it. Josh enjoys when she winds her fingers into the hair just above his nape, shudders when she scratches there gently with her nails. He totally loses track of what he’s doing when she sets her teeth -- gently, _gently_ \-- into the angle where his neck meets his shoulder.

For his part, Josh seems to be focused on getting her naked as soon as possible, reveling in every inch of skin he exposes, breathing fragmented compliments with every exhalation. He especially seems to appreciate how she looks after he’s pulled her silk cami up over her head, hair tousled and skin flushed.

“Should we--?” she asks, when her wrist knocks into the side of the television one too many times.

“Right, bed, yeah,” he agrees, and backs her up until her knees hit the mattress and she yanks him down with her.

“Wait, wait,” she says, fumbling at the miniscule tab on the zip of her skirt and the even tinier hook-and-eye above it. Josh helps her strip it off, dragging her slip with it, then settles above her, looking pleased. She pulls her knees up to frame his waist. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey yourself,” he responds. “Mrs. Santos.”

“Oh my god, _don’t_ ,” she says, laughing.

“What, you don’t think it’s a little hot?” he asks. “I think it’s a little hot.”

“He’s not wrong,” Matt says, and she cranes to look at him. He’s close enough that she can reach him if she stretches out her arm, and she does. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.

“How ya doing, babe?” she asks.

“Just fine,” he replies, then shifts his gaze. “Hey, Josh, why are you still wearing pants?”

“Me?” Josh says. “You’re the one all the way over there fully dressed. Wanna catch up?”

“All right,” Matt concedes, releasing Helen’s hand to unbutton his shirt. When he stands to strip it off, his broad shoulders rolling and his undershirt following in short order, Helen sees Josh swallow hard.

“...so why am _I_ here?” Josh asks.

Helen drags her nails across his scalp again. “Because we _like_ you, Josh,” she explains, smiling. “And as it turns out, my husband likes dick, and that’s a shared interest we haven’t gotten to explore before now.” She cants her hips upward, pressing against the evidence that Josh fulfills the latter requirement admirably.

“Oh thank god,” Josh says, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “‘Cos for a minute I thought I was gonna have to worry about the _mother_ of all political scandals when, say, some former--”

“No former anything,” Matt says, unbuckling his belt. “We haven’t invited anyone else into our bed. Don’t worry, there won’t be anything to bury, or handle, or _manage_.”

“Okay, I’m making a new rule,” Helen says, propping herself up on her elbows. “No politics during sex, or I’m doing this without you.”

“That’s not a new rule,” Matt points out. He steps out of his slacks, shakes them out, and lays them over the arm of the chair.

“It is for Josh,” she replies, and sees that Josh has already lost the thread of the conversation.

“--what?” he says.

Helen drapes her arms around Josh’s neck, reeling him in for a quick, clinging kiss. “No politics,” she whispers, and kisses him again. He hums assent, curving his hand over the arc of her ribs, skimming upwards.

The bed dips, and Josh pauses, kneeling up. “Looking to cut in?” he asks over his shoulder at Matt.

“No, no,” Matt says. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Only--” His hand curls around Josh’s elbow, and Josh twists a little more, bends a bit back, offering what Matt is reluctant to take outright.

Their mouths brush, and catch, and lock; Helen watches. She’s never seen how intent Matt looks when he’s kissing someone like this. She smiles, her skin prickling pleasantly. _I guess I still have a few things to discover,_ she thinks to herself, thrilled at the prospect.

She doesn’t comment on Josh’s scar this time, but she does wonder if Matt’s seen it. If he knows.

Josh looks a little dazed when the kiss ends, and Matt gives him a little nudge. “As you were,” he says, and Josh blinks. “Sure,” he says, going for his belt.

“ _That’s_ not where you left off,” Helen comments, quirking an eyebrow expectantly. Josh frowns, clearly conflicted.

“I got this,” Matt says, arms snaking around Josh’s waist.

“...all right,” Josh says, “Yeah, okay,” and he bends down to kiss Helen again. They all have another coordination issue, Josh almost losing his balance trying to crawl out of his pants while he helps Helen shimmy out of her bra.

Then the hot slick drag of his mouth lands on her neck, tracing a crooked line across her chest. He’s too careful with his teeth until she says, “ _Harder_ ,” and he does as he’s told. She trades smiles with Matt over Josh’s shoulder.

For his part, her husband seems occupied mapping Josh’s body in his turn, hands drifting in and out of Helen’s view. Matt finds the places that make Josh jolt in their arms, make him hiss expletives through his teeth. “ _Nnh_ ,” he says, shuddering, neck drooping so that his forehead rests just below the arc of her diaphragm, his breath ghosting over her belly button. “Stop,” he says, voice rough and shading into a plea. “I’m-- I’m trying to _concentrate_ here.”

His cheek grazes scratchily over the sensitive skin of her abdomen, and Helen shivers. “Problem, Josh?” Matt asks.

Josh’s answering laugh is a little high, a little sharp. “Not exactly the word I’d use, no.” Then he ducks down, palms pressing her thighs wide, tongue opening her up, clever and sure. Helen tangles her fingers in his hair and hangs on as he takes her apart, Matt murmuring encouragement, approval, direction.

And when Josh is done with her, she and Matt take turns returning the favor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after the primaries; sorry for the rough ellipsis, the narrative didn't quite cohere.

* * *

 

After the benefit, Josh follows them back to the suite, tracing an aimless circuit around the common room, turning off a monitor here, a coffeepot there, glancing at the pages waiting in the fax. Helen looks back at him; his bow tie hangs loose around his collar and his expression is illegible in the almost-actinic light filtering through the curtains. There’s a door leading to his room on the left, but his meandering path doesn’t take him anywhere near it.

Matt notices him loitering, too. “Look, Josh,” he says reluctantly.

“Not here,” Josh says, and Matt nods agreement before they all step through the door on the right.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” Helen says as soon as it closes behind them, dropping into the nearest chair.

“Sure,” Josh says, but he takes off his jacket and folds it neatly over the back of the other chair anyway.

“Seriously,” Matt says, “We don’t want you here if you think you need to... _make up_ for what happened back there.”

“You’re not the first to slip when a rival baited you too close to a reporter,” Helen says. “You screwed up, sure, but--”

“Yeah, I did screw up out there,” Josh says, his volume raising slightly. “I _definitely_ fucked up with Haffley, and we’re abso-freakking-lutely going to be reading about it in tomorrow’s papers. But I already know six ways to make it blow over by noon, and if you think I’m here because I think blowing _you_ is one of them, I got news for you.”

A muscle in Matt’s jaw flexes, and she can tell he’s taking a very slow, deep breath before he responds. “I never, _never_ want you to think that I believe your job could _ever_ hinge on what happens when we’re alone like this.”

“Will you give me some credit?” Josh asks. “I know what I’m worth to you, and I know you two wouldn’t chance the future of this country on some disposable lay. I sure as _hell_ know that neither of you are stupid enough to fire me, even if I’d laughed in your faces that first night.”

“Josh--” Matt starts, and:

“We don’t--” Helen says at the same time, but they both get interrupted.

“Look, I’m not some naive little nineteen year old intern, okay?” Josh says, exasperated. “I’m a grown man who’s been around the block often enough to know what I enjoy behind closed doors and what I’m getting into, here. So maybe when I tell you that I _really_ don’t mind being treated like the personal plaything of the second most powerful couple in the American Democratic Party, you can take my word for it and stop spiraling into some Catholic guilt trip about “taking advantage of me.”” He doesn’t quite use air quotes at the end, but he does gesture emphatically enough that the effect is the same. He points at the wall, indicating the common room past it, where all the computers lie dormant and stacks of reports and speech drafts lie abandoned, scattered over every flat surface while the rest of the staff is away getting a few hours of sleep. “I screw up out there, I’ll make it up to you out there. Out there, you tell me something I don’t like, I’ll fight you till one of us proves our point -- but in here,” he says, giving Matt a half-smile, “I haven’t had _any_ problem liking whatever you tell me to. So maybe this isn’t about feeling _obligated_ , and maybe it’s about the fact that we all had a rough night and I want to blow off some steam, all right?”

Helen realizes that she’s stopped breathing at some point during this little tirade. Her husband’s expression is shuttered and pensive.

“Are you finished?” Matt asks eventually.

“Yeah, I’m done,” Josh replies, sounding a little winded.

Matt looks over at Helen. She shrugs with feigned indifference, but reaches up to pull the comb out of her hair. Matt nods, fractionally, and starts unfastening his cufflinks. Without looking back at Josh, he says, “I want you undressed and on the bed by the time my wife is finished in the bathroom.”

It takes Josh a second, but then he’s complying with alacrity. “Yes, sir,” he says, grinning.

Helen watches him strip for a few moments, anticipation sending a tingling cascade of electricity along her nerves. “And don’t think we’re going to let you come ‘till we’re done with you,” she adds, stepping out of her shoes as she stands.

“Yes _ma’am,_ ” she hears Josh say behind her while she heads to the bathroom, pulling the pins from her hair on the way.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yep, another time jump: after the election)

“Hey, if the President and I aren’t around, do you and Helen fool around without us?”

“You used ‘around’ twice in one sentence,” Donna says, prodding the last few olives back and forth across the salad bowl with her fork. “And no, why?”

Josh is all wide-eyed and earnest, the way he gets when he’s about to tell her something he’s pretty sure will piss her off. “Well, you know, ‘cos Matt and I…” He fiddles with one of the paper napkins that had come with their lunch. “We do stuff without you.”

“Really?” Donna asks. She’s not actually surprised, but this is the first time Josh has _talked_ about it. At least in sentences that don’t start with “Do you want—?” or “Can we—?” or “Would you—?” Getting Josh to talk about feelings that aren’t either frustration or triumph are moments that need to be cultivated like orchids. “Okay.”

Josh sits up in his chair, misreading her careful neutrality. “What, don’t you believe me?” He leans in over her desk, lowering his voice. “You don’t think I fuck the leader of the free world every chance I get?”

Something shivers down Donna’s spine at his words. She sets down her fork and arches one eyebrow at him. “I just don’t think your respective jobs give you that many chances, is all.”

He smiles, something fleeting and dangerous, like the smile he used to get when he was about to _completely own_ every stubborn senator on the hill. She always wanted to drag him off to a coat closet, see what else he could do with that energy. Shame she didn’t; they’re both older now, more circumspect, less frenzied.

…not that they don’t still have their _moments_ , of course.

This might be one of them. “You’re wrong,” he says. “The last time he wanted me to stay late so we could go over the latest foreign policy analysis, I ended up staying just a little bit later after we were done so I could blow him on my couch.”

Donna feels the flush creeping up from her chest, her breath catching in her lungs. She can picture it; she’s _seen_ it, or something very like it. Josh likes giving head, likes giving himself over to wringing pleasure out of his partner, likes being petted and praised. And Matt doesn’t mind playing into that, stroking Josh’s hair and giving direction, telling Josh how _good_ he is, how perfect and hot his mouth is, until Josh is _moaning_.

 _Jesus._ Donna takes a deep, steady breath, then turns on the intercom for her secretary. “Molly,” she says. “I’m gonna need another twenty minutes.”

“Sure thing,” she hears before she closes the line. Josh watches her keenly, willing to see where she’s going with this.

Donna gets up, walks around her desk, and then leans back against it, arms crossed as she looks down at her husband. “You get on your knees a lot for President Santos, Josh?”

He grins up at her, loose and easy. “Every chance I get,” he says again. “I went down on him in the limo once. I—”

“Don’t tell me,” she says, propping one foot on his chair. “Show me.”

He drops to the floor like he’s been _waiting_ for it.

 

* * *

 

“In case that didn’t answer your question,” Donna says, wiping off his face with one of the napkins and finger-combing his hair. “No, I don’t mind if you and Matt fool around without me — or Helen, so long as it’s okay with her, too. I kinda figured you were, anyway.”

“What?” he asks, looking affronted as he straightens his tie. “How?”

“Because you were doing it with them before you and I got involved,” she replies. “Weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but. You knew?” His face clouds with worry, clearly recataloging who else might possibly have known and calculating how likely each is of leaking the info.

Donna shrugs. “I know _you,_ Josh,” she says. “And I’m the only one who knows you well enough to have noticed.” She straightens his tie. “Now go before someone realizes how long we’ve been in here.”

He leans in to kiss her one last time. “Yeah, but we’re _married,”_ he points out, grinning. “To each other, even.” It’s still new enough to make them a little goofy when they say it out loud.

“Still unprofessional,” she retorts, suppressing her own smile — badly — while she shoos him towards the door.

“Hey, you started it,” Josh complains. He stops when he gets to the door, spins around on his heel and paces halfway back. “So if you and the First Lady ever… you know…”

Donna smooths the sides of her skirt down again, and sits at her desk. “I doubt she’ll want to,” she says. “But if she does…”

“Yeah?”

“…I’ll give you a _full_ report,” she smirks.

He exhales sharply and blinks three times before he regains enough composure to leave.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

It’s not the first state dinner they’ve hosted, but the French Ambassador’s wife is driving the First Lady _right_ up the vintage damask wallpaper. So when Donna looks over at three am to find that Helen’s drifted off on the other end of the sofa, she just smiles and leaves her be, flipping to the next page of the protocol review.

She doesn’t really mean to fall asleep herself a bit later. But she does, and when she wakes up, she’s bathed in sunshine and warmth and —

“Oh, fuck, the luncheon,” Donna says, trying to sit up. It’s somewhat hindered by the arm around her shoulders, and. _Wait. Did I fall asleep with the first lady in the east sitting hall on top of a regency sofa worth more than my parents’ house?_

“I canceled it,” Helen says, “I told them that I needed you for more important things.”

Donna twists to look at her. “But—” she says, and the rest of her sentence evaporates because Helen’s giving her a strange smile, half fond and half—

—okay, see, that’s the kind of smile Donna doesn’t really get to see in the daytime, much less with late morning sunlight glowing golden over everything, so she can perhaps be forgiven for not recognizing it sooner.

As it is, however, she’s taken aback when Helen kisses her. _Oh,_ Donna thinks, a guilty flush creeping up her neck. She must make a noise, because Helen pulls back, looking concerned.

“Is this okay?” Helen asks. “I mean, I didn’t—”

“Oh!” Donna says. “Yeah, I just. I thought. We usually only… do _this_ when… on special occasions?” She winces, feeling stupid. How do you say ‘I didn’t think you’d still want to fuck me if both our husbands are gone?’

“Mm,” Helen says, undulating languorously in a gentle stretch under Donna. “Getting to play hooky for a few hours on a weekday morning in the White House? I can count that as special.” She gives Donna that _smile_ again, and the warmth in the room spills over to heat. “Only if you’re up for it, of course.”

Donna beams at her. “Yes, _ma’am_ ,” she says with enthusiasm and a dash of cheek, and leans up for another kiss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Brokered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654146) by [turingtestflunker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turingtestflunker/pseuds/turingtestflunker)




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